


bullseye

by dustofwarfare



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Pre-Canon, bad idea sex (definitely), drunk!sex (sorta), girls just wanna get laid, wham-bam-thank-you-chancellor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 20:40:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustofwarfare/pseuds/dustofwarfare
Summary: It's the annual Niflheim Officer's Yule Party, and Aranea has one goal -- get a little drunk and get laid. When her preferred companion leaves in a huff, Aranea finds herself making what is, in hindsight, a very bad decision -- thanks to the Imperial Chancellor, a dart board, and a bottle of top-shelf Ghorovas Rift vodka.Look, sometimes a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do -- even if his name's Ardyn Izunia.





	bullseye

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HigharollaKockamamie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HigharollaKockamamie/gifts).

> There are only four -- FOUR! -- fics for this pairing, which is literally hewn from snark and suspicion and hotness. I couldn't resist. I am gifting this to @higharollakockamamie for their tireless transcription of the Dawn of the Future book, which includes a lot of Aranea calling Ardyn an idiot. I'm not sure if 7K of banter and some wham-bam-thank-you-Chancellor-now-get-out sex is any kind of thank you that HRKM might have wanted, but..... *cute shrug emoji???* Here it is anyway??
> 
> Thanks to Freosan, Marmolita for the read-over, and Ohmyfae for being a delight about this on Twitter.

“And you _ know _ , don’t you,” Loqi Tummelt says, pounding his fist on the table, “Why they call him the _ Immortal _ ? It’s not _ literal. _” 

“Huh.” Aranea, deeply bored, crosses her arms over her chest. She didn’t even start this conversation. She just sort of walked into it. 

“He’s only called that because he _ acts _ like he’s immortal, not because he really is,” Loqi continues, with another fist-pound on the table. Whatever he’s drinking -- cheap whiskey, probably, it’s not like the Empire is going to go all-out on the annual Officer’s Yule Party -- sloshes over his glass and spills on the table. “And he’s getting _ older, _and you know what happens when you get older?” he demands, glaring at Aranea. 

“You get an alcohol tolerance?” She sighs. 

“No,” he huffs. “_ No _.” 

Actually, you do. She’s a walking example of that, because here they are. It’s 8:30. Loqi is old enough to drink but not old enough to know he doesn’t have to every time it’s available for free. Or to know when the hangover isn’t worth the cheap whiskey. 

This party is worse and worse every year. They don’t even have _ snacks _. 

“You get stupid,” Loqi slurs, eyes liquor-bright. He points at Aranea. “And when Cor the Immortal is addled by age, I shall be there to vanquish him!” 

This is the future of Niflheim’s army? This brat with a crush, metaphorically pulling his rival’s pigtails? By the Six, they’re doomed. 

“I’m going to get a drink,” Aranea says. If Loqi wants to drunkenly mutter about Cor, he can do it to someone else. And he will, she has no doubt. It’s his favorite subject, even when he’s sober. 

She makes her way over to the bar, but stops when she sees Caligo Ulldor holding court near the beer taps. He’s talking to some low-ranking officer she’s never met, shooting the occasional snide glance over toward a corner while he says, “It’s a _ pity _ the upper echelons of our vaunted imperial army have been _ invaded _by weak and ineffectual foreigners, isn’t it?” 

The object of his glare is Brigadier General Ravus Nox Fleuret, stubbornly attired in his Tenebraen raiment and drinking what Aranea can only assume is lukewarm tap water, given his complete lack of interest in anything pleasant. 

She sighs. This “party” has all the charm of a Monday morning meeting. The only difference is the free booze. And even that is about as good as the free coffee. 

Still. Aranea ignores Caligo’s pontificating as she always does -- he doesn’t like her, but it has nothing to do with her nationality. He doesn’t like that she’s a contract mercenary, that she’s a woman, that she one time refused his advances at this party about six years ago. 

He also spits when he talks, which she thinks the poor young officer is just now figuring out. 

She could talk to Glauca, but why? It’s impossible to hear anything he says since he won’t take that stupid helmet off. Like they don’t all _ know _he’s a double-agent. Maybe he’s just wearing it so he doesn’t have to hear Caligo’s xenophobic rants, though, and hey, maybe he’s onto something. 

Aranea glances over to where Ravus is leaning against a wall, and decides maybe it’s time to go suggest they leave -- it’s honestly the only reason she’s here, because Ravus is good at two things and she’s in the mood for one of them. Though if Caligo keeps on being so unrepentantly racist, maybe she’d be okay seeing Ravus’s _ other _ talent. But she’s really not in the mood for bloodshed. It’s supposed to be a _ party. _

Her last deployment was long and boring, and while she adores Biggs and Wedge, it’s never good to mix business with pleasure. Fucking people you like is always a problem down the road. She’d rather have their loyalty than their dicks. 

Ravus, though. It’s clear that his loyalty is to his sister and no one else, but he also hates Lucis enough that he won’t betray the army. He doesn’t dislike her, she doesn’t think, but he doesn’t much like anyone so it’s pretty safe to take him home. He’s pretty in his own way -- tall and angular, sharp like a knife. He’s got a nice cock and he doesn’t bother with too much foreplay, doesn’t call her sweet names or want to cuddle afterward. 

But he’s also in a bad mood, more than he usually is, and his expression is tight and closed-off when she approaches. “Commodore Highwind.” 

“Brigadier General Nox Fleuret.” What a mouthful. “So, you wanna get out of here?” 

“Yes,” Ravus says. “But I’m afraid I’m not in the mood for company.” He pushes off the wall, nods at her, and heads toward the door. 

Well, hell. Terrible refreshments, her obnoxious chatty military colleagues and now no chance to even get laid at the end of it? It really _ is _a Monday morning meeting. 

If she can’t get laid, she might as well get drunk and beat all these fools at darts. Smashing a few overly-inflated male egos isn’t nearly as satisfying as getting pounded into her mattress, but it’ll have to do. 

***

“These darts aren’t weighted correctly,” Ulldor snarls, after their fourth game and her fourth win. He throws it in a tiff, in the opposite direction of the board. 

“What the _ fuck _,” Loqi yowls, from somewhere behind her. 

“Huh,” says Aranea. “That’s the best throw you had all night. Maybe you should start throwing backward.” 

Biggs, who’s watching her over a pint of warm, low-ABV beer, starts laughing. Ulldor has no sense of humor, so he doesn’t. He also doesn’t come back, and she’s not sure there’s anyone left to play against. Loqi, but he was too drunk two hours ago to stand, so. 

“Biggs? Wedge?” Aranea glances between them. She wiggles a dart. “A game?” 

“No, thank you, Lady A,” Biggs says, grinning. “Seen enough carnage for one night, I have. Gotta save my guts for the battlefield, eh Wedge?” 

Wedge just nods. 

“Cowards.” She shakes her head. This entire party is a disappointment. She surveys the assembled crowd, wondering why on Eos this is supposed to be any kind of “reward” for service. Honestly, she has better beer at home in her fridge, and a vibrator that will at least get her off. 

“Commodore Highwind! I had no idea you were so gifted at darts.” 

Blinking, she turns to see Chancellor Izunia, of all people, smiling at her. What the hell is he doing here? And smiling like that? It can’t be anything good. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

The Chancellor tips his hat. “Why, His Imperial Majesty sent me, of course. I’ve no affiliation with the army, but he does want to send his appreciation for your service.” He bows. “So I’m here to offer it.” 

Aranea doesn’t believe a thing he says. For one thing, he’s a politician and all they basically do is lie. For another, well. Just look at him. No one trustworthy wears that many patterns at once. “Tell him to shell out for better booze next time.” 

“Oh, is it not satisfactory?” 

“Have you tried it?” Aranea asks, studying him dubiously. “Also, do you have to talk like that?” 

“Like what?” Izunia asks, with that same smile. 

“Like you’re trying to get me to vote for you,” she says, bluntly. “Which, again, not doing unless you personally make this party fun next year.” 

“My position is appointed, alas,” Chancellor Izunia says. “But I shall pass your feedback along to the appropriate person in charge of planning officially-sanctioned gatherings, how’s that?” 

“Wait, that’s a person’s _ job _?” Aranea can’t quite believe that. “What else do they plan? Monday morning meetings?” 

“As a matter of fact, yes,” the Chancellor says. 

Aranea stares at him. She can’t decide if he’s serious or not. He has the same bland smile as ever, the one that he can’t possibly think anyone believes. She looks up at his eyes. They’re a strange color, bright gold, and they’re as cold as cut glass. 

She’s never really looked at him before, not really. She has some vague memory of him being around when she first got to the capital, but she doesn’t have a firm idea of what he looked like. She thought maybe his hair was longer. He was always hanging around that scientist, the military one who makes the MTs. 

“You _ are _ affiliated with the army, though,” she says, as if she just remembered that. “You do R&D, don’t you? With Besithia?” That guy’s more than a few needles short of a cactuar. What a pair. 

“I do all manner of things in the service of my country,” Izunia says, all charm. 

“Uh-huh. Which one is that, again?” She’s pretty sure he’s not from Niflheim. Or is he? Whatever, does it really matter? He’s annoying no matter what country spawned him, and he’s _ her _country’s problem, now. One of many. 

“What a silly question, Commodore.” Then, he leans in and says in a low voice, “I know where the barkeep hides the Ghorovas Rift vodka, would that make you happier with the Empire’s generosity?” 

A distraction technique, but since she actually doesn’t give a fuck about Ardyn Izunia, she’ll take it. “It’s a start,” she says, and watches him swan off to the bar. 

He’s not bad looking, Chancellor Izunia. He’s taller than Ravus, and just about as broad -- unless that pile of clothes is even more layers-thick than it looks -- and he doesn’t really have anything to do with the army, except apparently showing up at parties. 

Her brain is going down a dangerous path and she should put a stop to it -- at least until she sees if he can keep his promise about the liquor. 

He comes back with a bottle and two glasses, places them on the table and pours two generous shots. The bottle must have been in the freezer because it’s cold, condensation slick on the outside. It really _ is _Ghorovas Rift vodka. Holy shit. 

She takes the glass, lifts it and says, “Bottoms up.” 

He clinks his glass with hers and she takes her shot. It’s smooth and delicious, and she puts her glass down and nods when he lifts the bottle in silent query. He pours another, and then another, and suddenly maybe this party isn’t so bad. 

Maybe the Chancellor isn’t, either. Verdict’s still out on that one. 

***

Ardyn -- as he insists she call him -- is just as bad as the rest of the men at darts. But unlike the rest of her comrades, she doesn’t necessarily believe it. 

They’ve nearly polished off the entire bottle, but even though she’d begrudgingly admit to being _ slightly _ drunk, he doesn’t seem at all affected. And it’s almost like he’s _ trying _to be bad. But maybe she’s just more drunk than she thought. 

“Guess I see why they didn’t let you in the army,” she says, watching as he squints and then throws. She winces. The dart hits the side of the board and falls on the floor. Someone should warn Loqi, if he’s still here. 

On second thought -- 

“Is dart-throwing an integral part of the application process into the Imperial Army?” He does that thing people do for no reason when they play darts, moving his hand back and forth as if that’s going to help his aim. His throw doesn’t bounce off the board this time, but it nets him only a point. 

She frowns. This just seems _ wrong _, it’s like he’s trying to lose. “No, but they like it when you can aim...are you losing on purpose?” 

“What?” Ardyn glances over at her. He’s taken off the hat, and his hair is a wild shade of purple that can’t be real but is the same as the scruff on his face. He also shed his jacket and that silly scarf, leaving him in his shirt and vest. And fingerless gloves, which seems like an odd choice -- but that is, she imagines, his entire fashion sense in a nutshell. 

Aranea perches on the table and shrugs. “Maybe you think it’s rude to beat a girl at darts.” 

“You’re a high-ranking military officer, Commodore Highwind. Your skill with your lance is renowned far and wide. Why would I, a mere administrator, be in any position to defeat you at a game of skill?” 

“You could just say no,” Aranea says. “Geez.” 

“All right. No.” Ardyn gives her his politician’s smile and turns back to the board. This time, he doesn’t squint or do that little motion with his hand. He just throws, and nails the bullseye. “Well. Look at that. What luck.” 

“You lying asshole,” Aranea says. “What, do you have a dartboard in your office? Is this what Imperial Chancellors do, play darts all day?” 

“Don’t be silly. I don’t have an office. That’s just asking for trouble, putting yourself in one place and _ inviting _people to come find you. I do, however, attend quite a few meetings. And imagine throwing things at most of the participants.” 

Aranea snorts. “That’s the first thing you’ve ever said that I believe.” She can understand the urge to throw pointy things at one’s colleagues, if nothing else. 

His smile is different this time; a little warmer, a little more real. But it still doesn’t reach his eyes. “Imagining throwing knives at my political opponents isn’t quite the same as doing it, alas, and requires very little actual skill. So I must confess, it was a lucky throw.” 

“I don’t believe you, but I also don’t care.” Aranea reaches out and grabs the bottle. She decides to hell with the glass and brings it up to her lips, pausing and giving him a thoughtful look. WIth most people, she’d just ask if they were interested in going home with her. But Ardyn Izunia isn’t most people. He’s not a soldier, he’s a _ talker. _An administrator. 

A weirdo, but whatever, she’s only really interested in one thing, here. “How about a wager? You win, and I’ll...uh. Give you the rest of the vodka.” 

“You’re about to drink the rest of the vodka,” he points out. “I’ve no real use for an empty bottle.” 

“Okay, I’ll...vote for you? No. Wait. I’ll, uh.” She searches wildly for something she, a mercenary, might offer a man who sits at the right hand of the Emperor. What the fuck is she even doing, right now? “Give you dart lessons?” 

“What a kind offer. And if you win?” he asks, shrewdly. “What do you want? A raise? Reassignment? A new commanding officer?” 

She opens her mouth, pauses, and thinks about this. She really wants to get laid, it’s been a long time. But. “Could you? Give me a new commanding officer?” 

“I can do many things, Commodore. Is that what you want?” He tilts his head, his mouth curving into a smirk, and it’s maybe the first real, honest expression she’s ever seen on his features. Figures.

“I mean, you’ve met Glauca, right?” She leans forward. “Anyone that into full-body armor is definitely a sociopath. But, come on, I don’t believe for a second you’ll fire the High Commander over losing a game of darts.” 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m quite well-known for my whimsical nature.” 

Aranea has not heard that. Most people think Izunia’s an imperial lacky with atrocious fashion sense who’s been having a decades-long affair with Verstael Besithia. She points a finger at him. “If I win, you do something for me.” She leers at him. 

“And what’s that?” 

Wait, seriously? Doesn’t he know what a _ leer _is? She kills the rest of the vodka, puts it aside and sighs. “Me. You can do that, right?” 

“Are you suggesting --” 

“Oh, don’t look all shocked,” she interrupts, lest he start monologuing again. “This is a purely practical move on my part. I came here to get laid but these parties put everyone in a bad mood, so. And you’re not so bad after all that vodka. Especially if you stop talking.” 

“I’m so flattered, what an attractive offer,” Ardyn says. 

“You got a better one? I’m not into sweet-talk, kissing or cuddling. I like it hard and fast, and you show yourself out after.” This is really stupid. She’d yell at literally anyone else for this, but it’s late, she’s just at the level of drunk to ignore how he’s normally sort of skeevy and focus instead on how big his hands are. 

Besides. She’s given him an easy way out -- if he’s not into it, he can just win the dart game. She doesn’t believe for a second he couldn’t, just like she doesn’t believe for a second he’s really from Niflheim and just a politician. But whatever. It’s supposed to be a party, right? 

“As it happens, no, I don’t have a better offer. All right, then. If I win, you owe me a favor. If you win, I suppose I owe you something else.” He hands her the dart. “Ladies first.” 

“Oh, please,” Aranea huffs,but takes the dart. 

***

Aranea wins the game. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” she says, as they leave the bar. It’s snowing, and she shivers and pulls her coat around her. It’s also late, the streets mostly empty as it’s the middle of the week. Of course the government wouldn’t spring for a party on a weekend. Cheap bastards.

The cold air is making her a little more sober, and she doesn’t like the idea that Izunia’s _ forcing _himself to go to bed with her. 

“But I went to all that effort to lose the dart game,” Ardyn says. At her glare, he laughs. “Commodore Highwind, what makes you think any man would turn down such a delightful offer to spend a night in your company?” 

Ugh, honestly, _ she _should have lost the dart game. Also, she can name one -- Ravus Nox Fleuret -- but she doesn’t. “Not the night. It won’t take that long. If you’re any good. This is literally me using you for sex, got that?” 

“I did follow, yes,” Ardyn says. “And I have to say, it’s quite refreshing. Most attempts to seduce me are for some kind of favor with the Emperor, or increased departmental funding. No one ever seems interested in the idea just for my _ company. _”

“Your cock,” she corrects, because she’s not one to shy away from what she wants. 

“Yes, Commodore. That is what I meant.” He waves a hand. “Either way, it’s quite the novel experience.” 

“I can’t ever tell when you’re telling the truth,” she says, blinking snowflakes out of her eyes. Also, do people really try and seduce him for funding? She wonders if that's how Besithia got all that cloning equipment. 

“How flattering.” He sounds pleased. “Shall I call a cab?” 

“You can, but it’d be a short ride.” She points to one of the small houses. “That’s my place.” The neighborhood isn’t the best, but the proximity to the bar sold her on the house. She’s not home that much, anyway. 

“Charming,” says Ardyn, and follows her up the stairs to the front door.

***

The house is cold, because everywhere in Gralea is cold this time of year. She clicks the heat on and turns it up a few more degrees, and leaves the lights off as she makes her way to her bedroom. “This way.” 

When she gets in her bedroom she switches on her beside light and starts pulling her clothes off. She stops when she notices Ardyn is just watching her, and briefly she wonders if she’s really going to go through with this. She’s sober enough the bad-idea part is starting to drown out the _ get fucked nice and hard _part. 

He’s the _ Imperial Chancellor _. He’s an obnoxious politician who cheats at darts! What is she even doing? 

“If you’ve changed your mind,” he says, “it’s all right. I certainly shan’t hold it against you.” 

“Does that mean you’ve changed yours?” she demands, hands on her hips. This is starting to get awkward. This is the kind of thing she tries to _ avoid _. Maybe she should have had him bring another bottle of vodka. 

Ardyn tosses his hat at her dresser. It lands perfectly on the edge of her mirror, and is joined by his scarf a few seconds later. Yeah, the asshole totally lost that game on purpose. “Not in the slightest.” 

“Okay, then.” She takes off her bra and steps out of her panties, and sits naked on the edge of her bed to take off her heels. 

“Do me a favor,” Ardyn says, his voice a purr. “Leave those on.” 

She rolls her eyes, but she complies and lies back on her bed. Men. Generals, daemon hunters, Imperial Chancellors, they’re all the same, aren’t they? 

***

Aranea twists her fingers in Ardyn’s hair, gasping up at the ceiling as she digs her heels into the meat of his upper back. “Fuck,” she moans, twisting on the sheets. 

For a few seconds after he’d stripped and joined her on the bed, she’d been convinced this would be way to awkward to go through with -- especially if he started talking again. But instead, he draped her legs over his nice broad shoulders and set his hands on her hips, pulled her forward and put his politician’s tongue work. 

All that slick talking and penchant for monologuing might be annoying in literally every other circumstance, but in this one, well, she’s not complaining. He’s so good at it, it seems like he doesn’t even need to _ breathe _, and she’s on the edge faster than she ever would have thought if someone told her she’d end up in bed with the Imperial Chancellor. 

“You can use your fingers, too,” she instructs him bossily, because what’s the point of any of this if she doesn’t get it just like she wants? He seems amenable, dropping one hand from her hip to slide beneath her and press two inside. He’s got nice, long fingers that feel -- huh. Calloused, as if he’s somehow familiar with a weapon. 

She doesn’t think about it for long, though, because he starts _ using _ his finger _ and _ his tongue and that’s enough to push her over the edge. She comes while grinding against his face, because why not -- he seems not to mind, and he’s here for _ her _pleasure, isn’t he? 

She’s gasping for breath when he moves back, his hair in his face, and gives her an expectant look. “Well? Did my efforts impress?” 

“Not bad,” she says, pushing up on her elbows. Her body is still trembling and she’s covered in sweat, but also, she’s not letting him off that easy. “But you know, you’d be surprised what they can do with toys nowadays. There’s this vacuum-technology or something, I don’t know, but I’ve got one of those toys with a tongue that doesn’t need to breathe _ and _doesn’t ask questions about how it did when I get off.” 

His smirk is so smug, she actually raises one foot just to kick him with the heel of her shoe. “I’m not kidding. That was great, but it’s not what I brought you here for.” 

“Thank you for indulging me, then,” Ardyn drawls, getting to his knees.

Gods, he’s annoying. Is there any way to have him fuck her and _ not _talk? Probably not. Oh, well -- she’s getting a good look at his cock, now, which is impressive as he moves his hand over it as he looks down at her. At least he’s into it, though there’s still a chill in his eyes that belies his smile and even his erection, 

Well, whatever. It’s not as if she’s in this to _ like _ him, or gods forbid, have him like _ her _. She focuses on the part that matters, his cock, and gets up to turn over on all fours. “All right, Chancellor. Impress me and maybe I’ll sit through all those mandatory speeches without making fun of you to the person next to me.” 

That’s a lie, but she’s usually far enough back in the crowd that he won’t notice. 

Ardyn smacks her on the ass -- and not lightly, either. It makes her blood heat and her cunt wet, and she grins down at the bedding where he can’t see. “You get that one, but try it again and I get to spank _ you _next.” 

“You say that like you think I’d have a problem with it,” Ardyn says, rubbing her ass with his hand. “But here I thought you said you didn’t like foreplay.” 

“Ha, ha. Get on with it, Chancellor. I can banter with my clothes on, you know.” She gasps as he slides his cock inside, and she’s wet enough that it goes in deep without too much discomfort. And look at that, she’s found the one use for politicians -- or at least, this particular politician. She can’t speak for the rest of them, and doesn’t really want to. 

“And how’s that?” he asks, starting to move. “What you wanted, Commodore? A fitting reward for your prowess in our dart game?” 

“Be better if you’d shut up,” she says, then turns to look at him over her shoulder. “Just be quiet and fuck me, all right? You don’t need to pretend like you like me.”

He stares at her as he moves behind her, his big hands settling on her hips to pull her back against his cock. “Don’t take it personally,” he says, in a soft voice. There’s a moment where the dim light of her bedside lamp makes his face look cruel, almost malicious. Like the shadows have seeped somehow into his eyes. 

“I don’t,” Aranea assures him. “But I _ will _take it personally if you don’t fuck me, so….” 

With an odd little smile, Ardyn drives his cock into her, pulling her back on it, and she drops her head and moans because _ yes _ . “Tell me,” he says, pleasantly again, in his usual smug tone. “Do they make a toy for _ this _?” 

“Yeah,” Aranea gasps, grabbing fistfulls of the sheets beneath her. “But -- ah -- you don’t pay army contractors enough for me to -- ahh, fuck -- afford one.” 

“What a terrible oversight,” Ardyn says, and snaps his hips again. 

It feels good, but after a few more seconds she has the feeling that he’s not quite going as hard as he could. Annoyed, she glances over her shoulder again. “Are you trying not to hurt me?” 

“Yes.” It surprises her that he so easily owns up to it. 

Surprising, but not necessary. “Well, quit it. I don’t know who you usually fuck, _ Chancellor _, but I can take a lot more than this. I want it hard, remember? So give it to me like I want it, that’s the deal.” 

“As you wish. Do speak up if it’s too much,” he says, and she’d laugh at him if he didn’t _ start _ doing it like she wanted, fucking her so hard the bed starts slamming into the wall. Good thing she went for that single house instead of the apartment, she’d be farther away from the bar _ and _have some pissed-off neighbors. 

It’s definitely right on the edge of almost-too-much, but she doesn’t tell him to stop. She lets the force of his thrusts move her up the bed, eventually falling so that her face is pressed to the pillow and it’s muffling her cries. Her back is arched and her ass is sticking up, and she squirms round to get a hand free and between her legs. 

“Shall I --”

“Nope,” she says, immediately. “Just keep doing that, yeah, don’t -- don’t stop, just make sure I don’t fall.” With that she shifts so she can prop herself up a bit on one shoulder, her other hand between her legs as she rubs her clit in time with his thrusts. “Right there, yeah, right there, _ gods _\--” 

She breaks off into incoherent sounds, hair clinging to her damp face and body tightening as she gets closer and closer. He _ definitely _cheated at that dart game, because he’s hitting her perfect with every thrust, a goddamn bullseye every single time. 

“You’re quite lovely, Commodore,” Ardyn says, and while she’s panting and making sounds like he’s maybe killing her instead of fucking her, his voice sounds the same as ever. “Does it feel good? Am I giving it to you just as you wanted?” 

“Yeah,” she manages, and she’s close, so close -- 

Ardyn gives a soft laugh and a hard thrust. “Go on then, make yourself come on my cock just as you want.” 

“Will, thanks.” Aranea ignores whatever else he’s saying in favor of rubbing herself hard and fast, fingers slick with her wetness and his cock pushing her steadily toward her orgasm. 

Aranea might have been embarrassed by how quickly it makes her come, but that’s why she brought him here. It breaks over her in a hot rush and makes her shout, her whole body shuddering as she spasms on her fingers and around his cock. It’s exactly what she wanted, and it feels so good that in that moment she doesn’t even care -- much -- about who it was that just gave it to her. 

Some part of her is dimly aware that he’s been very quiet through all of this. She can tell when he comes, though, if only because his rhythm stutters and his fingers tighten so hard on her hips that she winces, mostly from surprise. It’s not the kind of thing she minds. These are the sort of bruises that remind her of pleasant things -- if they don’t get lost among all the others that don’t. 

He finishes by falling forward and catching his weight with one hand slammed against her wall. 

It seems like the room shakes, something falling on her from the ceiling. Maybe. She’s not real sure what’s going on, other than her breathing finally coming back to normal. It takes a long time. 

Eventually she flips over on her back with the last of her strength and finds Ardyn standing at the foot of her bed. 

He’s fully dressed. She blinks a few times in sleepy confusion, then shrugs it off. That, and how he looks exactly the same as he did before. As in, his hair is still wild around his face but he’s not sweaty, not breathing hard. Maybe she fell asleep or something. She’s definitely going to, in about five minutes. 

Ardyn collects his hat and scarf, and nods at her. “Pleasant dreams, Commodore Highwind.” 

“You, too, Chancellor.” What a weirdo. She closes her eyes and yawns. She’s not about to thank him, what’s the point? He got off, too. She should probably show him out or something, but she’s so _ tired. _Her house isn’t that big. He’s the Imperial Chancellor. If he can’t figure out how to get back the few steps it took to get to her bedroom, then they’re all doomed. 

***

Aranea wakes up with a raging headache and a dry mouth, and the unpleasant realization that boy, did she ever make one doozy of a mistake. 

She sits up, unable to ignore the pleasant sore ache between her legs and the faint bruises on her hips. Ugh. She’d really -- yeah. With Imperial Chancellor Izunia, a man who helps a mad scientist make a clone army and who mixes the color orange with _ purple _ and who unironically wears a _ fedora _. 

_ Indoors _. 

She can’t deny that it was good, but...she’s going to. Vehemently. Forever. 

Aranea sits up and notices a few things immediately. One, her heels are off and resting neatly on top of her dresser. Two, there are small white bits of -- what the fuck _ is _that? -- on her pillow and her bed. Frowning, she glances up and realizes what it is. Drywall from her ceiling? 

“Okay, seriously,” Aranea says, out loud. “He fucked me so hard the ceiling fell down? No.” She looks up at the wall and sees a small indentation in the paint, as if something hit it. Dimly, she recalls him slamming his hand against the wall when he -- 

“Nope.” _ Nope. _She’s not thinking about any of this, or the fact there’s a glass of water next to her bed. She eyes the water suspiciously, sniffs it, and decides not to drink it. It’s time to get up and get dressed, and make sure Ardyn Izunia never breathes of word of what happened to anyone. 

***

It turns out that finding Chancellor Izunia isn’t easy, because he hadn’t been lying about not having an office. Aranea spends a frustrating day -- one of her few days off, before she has to ship off again -- asking a bunch of people where to find him. 

She wanders around Zegnautus like a half-blind, confused tourist, constantly going one way and then another, asking Imperial troops and MTs until she realizes that not having an office is actually a brilliant fucking plan if you don’t want anyone to find you. 

Unless you’re the one looking, then it’s really goddamn annoying. Aranea _ finally _finds him in a far-off control room, feet up on the console and reading a car magazine. 

Tough job, running the Empire. She and her cohorts are out there fighting Lucians and he’s drinking a can of Ebony and flipping past ads for the season’s new decals. In fact, is that a _ Lucian _magazine? 

“Hello, Commodore Highwind.” He doesn’t even look up from the magazine. “What can this humble servant do for one of Niflheim’s finest today, then?” 

Thing about Izunia is that he would sound like this even if they _ hadn’t _fucked. Which is kind of reassuring, if she thinks about it. “Just wanted to, uh. Check in.” She glances around, unsure if they’re alone. Oh, there’s no one in here but the two of them, but she knows the Empire better than that. 

They _ are _in a room full of security cameras, after all. 

“Hmm? What’s that?” 

“Chancellor, let’s not play stupid, I’m bad at that game.” Aranea crosses her arms over her chest. “About the Officer’s Party.” 

“I shall pass on the recommendation for better liquor, as I promised.” Ardyn finally looks up and fixes her with his impersonal, friendly smile. “Was there anything else you’d like me to bring up?” 

For a second, even _ she _thinks she imagined that whole part where they -- yeah. It occurs to her that he knows exactly what she means and is assuring her that it’s forgotten. “No, that’s -- that’s it. Better liquor, and my god, get that thing catered. People need snacks.” 

Ardyn waves a hand. “Consider it done.” 

Aranea expels a breath, wondering why she’s not as relieved as she should be. Maybe because without the urge to get laid and the alcohol, she remembers who he is. She wonders if she should mention the weird indentation in the wall, or how her ceiling shook so hard bits of it fell down on her pillow and in her hair. 

Nah. No need to stroke his ego. He got to fuck her, that’s going to have to be enough. “Okay, then.” She turns and heads toward the door, determined to put this out of her memory and also, never come back to Zegnautus if she can help it. This place is creepy as hell. 

“Oh, Aranea, one more thing.” 

She’s not surprised when he speaks again, as he’s clearly the type of person who enjoys a last word or two hundred. What is surprising is that his voice is lacking all his usual smarm and false joviality, and is, for once, just as cold as his eyes. 

What’s even more surprising is that his voice is coming from _ right behind her _ , which should be impossible given he was seated in a chair several feet away, not half a second ago. “Just so we’re clear, I _ did _ lose that dart game. Not because I was so eager to bed you, though I admit it was pleasant enough. You make truly lovely sounds when you’re taking a cock, and it was delightful how _ eager _you were for it.” 

Well, of course he’s being insufferable. Of course he is. What did she expect? “All right, Chancellor, I’ll bite.” She turns and leans against the door, which he’s effectively blocking her against, and tilts her chin up. “Why’d you do it?” The _ pleasant enough _makes her want to kick him in the nuts. Asshole. 

“Why, so you’d owe me a favor, of course,” Ardyn says. “And yes, before you ask, I _ could _have simply won the game and earned my favor that way. But this is far better leverage, isn’t it? And besides. That way we both got what we wanted. The art of politics is all about compromise, you know.” 

“_ Pleasant enough _ is what you wanted?” she asks, waspishly, because -- honestly. _ Pleasantly enough? _ “How about I show you _ unpleasant, _and then you can rephrase that in a way that doesn’t make me want to lance you in your sleep?” 

“My dear, believe me when I say _ pleasant enough _ is quite an improvement over so many of my activities and let’s leave it at that. Now, you _ did _get what you wanted, didn’t you?” He smiles down at her. “It certainly seemed as if you did.” 

“I can’t tell if you’re being smug because you can’t help it and that’s your default setting, or if you’re threatening me.” Aranea glares at him. “But if you don’t take a step back, I’m going to kick you in the nuts _ and _stick my lance somewhere unpleasant, got that?” 

Ardyn holds his hands up, gloved like he’s a in a biker gang or going through some latent goth phase. “I’m certainly not threatening you, so I suppose the answer is the former. Merely assuring you that you don’t have to worry about my...kissing and telling, as it were.” 

She opens her mouth to point out that they never kissed, not even once, then remembers that his mouth was other places and decides to let it go. “Except for the favor you’re going to hang over my head.” 

“Not for that long, and it won’t be terrible, I assure you. I may need safe passage somewhere, or to arrange it for others, who can say?” Ardyn smiles again. “I think that’s all we need to say about this, don’t you?” 

In answer, Aranea turns, opens the door, and marches out like she’s going off to war. Which she would literally rather do, than spend _ one more minute _with Chancellor Infuriating. 

Next time, no matter how good the vodka is, she is _ going home alone. _Actually, no, fuck that party. She’s not going next year. Snacks or no. 

*** 

“I wanted to apologize,” Ravus says, stiffly -- because that’s how he says everything -- a few days later. They’re on an airship headed toward somewhere in Cleigne, and honestly, Aranea isn’t complaining. Damp, wet conditions are better than freezing cold Gralean winters any day. 

Ravus is standing in front of her, his hands behind his back, his features as composed as ever. Aranea leans back against the wall and shrugs. “What are you sorry for? Breathing?” Knowing him, he probably _ is. _

“The Officer’s Party,” he says, and Aranea’s mouth twitches at just _ hearing _ Ravus say the word _ party. _“I was not good company, and I realize I left rather abruptly and quite rudely.” 

“Is this one of those times where you’re apologizing because you’re sorry, or because you think you have to apologize because of like...manners?” she asks, suspicious. “It sounds like the manners thing and you know I could give a fuck about that.” 

They’re not really friends. But Ravus is good in bed, even though she knows what motivates him isn’t so much lust as anger - she’s never seen him smile, not once -- and he’s never seemed to care about her lack of feminine grace or whatever. 

“I am apologizing because I was rude to you, and there was no reason for it,” Ravus says, slowly, staring at some point over her shoulder with his clear, gray eyes. “Other than my discomfort at attending that farce, which is certainly not your fault.” 

“Why did you?” Aranea asks, bluntly. “You didn’t have to. It wasn’t mandatory.” 

Wait, was it? 

“If I fail to show my face, then it appears as if I am afraid of these fools and their opinions of me,” Ravus spats. “Which I am not. I merely find them tiresome. I go to remind them that despite their wishes to the contrary, I am still here.” His chin tilts. “But that doesn’t mean I must suffer their company for overlong.” 

His pride will be his undoing, she thinks. But what the hell, everyone’s gotta die on some hill, don’t they? His seems pretty stupid, but whatever. “Okay. It’s fine.” She honestly doesn’t know why he’s apologizing, even if it _ is _just his bizarre sense of manners. Unless he’s also looking to burn off some steam, but all he has to do is ask. Sex doesn’t need to be so complicated, geez. 

“You were attended to?” Ravus says that like she was injured in battle and needed medical attention. Hell, maybe needing to get fucked that hard is some reaction to spending so much time away and fighting in a war. Some need to feel alive. Maybe it’s not that much different than needing a couple bandages or whatever. 

She nods. “Sure.” Aranea doesn’t think he’s going to ask who it was, or if they were better at satisfying her than he was, or any of those questions men might ask if they were...well, not Ravus. She might faint if he did. And how would she answer that? _ He was great, but then he almost punched a hole in my wall and blackmailed me into doing a favor. And he lost at darts on purpose. And I hate his face. _

Honestly, maybe she should just stick to that vacuum-powered toy. If her choices are between Ravus and Ardyn...maybe she’ll just save up for that fucking machine. Way less trouble _ and _100% less awkward interactions. Win-win. 

***  
“Commodore, I have a favor to ask of you,” Ardyn says, striding into the airship where she’s playing cards with Biggs and Wedge. “I need you to escort the Prince of Lucis and his entourage into Steyliff. There’s a little errand they need to accomplish, which involves some mythril.” 

She stares at him. “You want me to take _ the enemy _ down into a daemon-infested ruin? And what? Feed them to a mindflayer?” 

Ardyn laughs. It sets her teeth on edge. “No, no. Just help them find the mythril that’s in the bottom of the dungeon, and escort them back. That’s all! I shall even pay you for your time. And your associates, of course.” 

“Again,” Aranea says, flatly. “Just in case you can’t hear common sense over the sound of your own voice. You want me to escort _ the enemy _. Who we are supposed to arrest on sight. And keep them safe to find some mythril in a dungeon full of daemons?” That she doesn’t really hate Noctis Lucis Caelum or his friends isn’t the point, they’re still the enemy. “I know I’m just a contract employee, Chancellor, but I can still be thrown in jail for treason. Which, if you’re not getting the picture, here, is what this would be.” 

And by _ thrown in jail _ , she means, _ executed. _Aranea isn’t fond of the idea of a firing squad. Even if her execution squad would be made up of soldiers, and knowing all those morons in the Niflheim army, they’d probably miss. 

“Oh, come now, don’t be silly. I’m the Imperial Chancellor, do you really think I’d let you stand trial for treason?” 

No, she doesn’t. She thinks what will happen is that she’ll be arrested and executed before anyone even _ thinks _the word, “trial.” Aranea is not an idiot. “You don’t have anything to do with the army, remember? Ugh. Can’t you ask someone else? Someone who’s not as fond of living, maybe? Someone with a death wish? Go ask Loqi. Tell him Cor the Immortal is down there waiting, he’ll do it for free.” 

Biggs is giving her _ a look _ , but she doesn’t care. Honestly, between the daemon soldiers and the Emperor’s nutty babbling about how much he _ looooves _ his new glow-rock toy, Aranea is pretty much over it. Everything. She’s over _ everything. _

“I’m afraid not, and besides,” Ardyn says, eyes cold and smile full of menance. “You do owe me one. That wager for our friendly game of darts.” 

And that’s why, Aranea thinks, you never trust the devil when he comes bearing gifts. Even if those gifts are really good vodka and a nice big cock. 

“Boys,” she says, once Ardyn has slunk off to whatever he does when it’s not being a weirdo is mis-matched clothing. “I think that contract of ours with the Imperial Army is going to expire a little sooner than we thought.”  


**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun writing these two, and it sort of got me back into writing after a massive block so??? Thanks Aranea, and I guess, Ardyn.


End file.
